Glasgow Urban Myths Read Online Free Page B
Author: Ian Black
femur.
And here is a letter from a South Side retirement home.
Dear Schoolchildren,
Thank you so much for the beautiful radio I won at your recent pensioners’ bingo lunch. I’m 94 years old and live at the local home in Pollokshields. My family are all dead apart from my daughter in Australia and I rarely have visitors. As a result, I have very limited contact with the outside world. This makes your present especially welcome.
The woman who shares my room, Maggie Cook, has had her own radio for as long as I’ve known her. She listens to it all the time, though usually with an earplug or with the volume so low that I can’t hear it. For some reason I have never understood, she has never wanted to share it.
Last Sunday morning, while listening to her morning religious programme, she accidentally knocked her radio off its shelf. It smashed into many pieces, and caused her to cry. It was really sad.
Fortunately, I had my new radio. Knowing this, Maggie asked if she could listen to mine.
I told her to fuck off.
God bless you.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Phone phantasy. With eejits.
I was sitting at my desk, when I remembered a phone call I had to make. I found the number and rang it. A man answered saying, “Hello?” I politely said, “This is John Thomas. Could I please speak to Robin Carter?”
Without a word the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be that rude. I tracked down Robin’s correct number and rang her. She had transposed the last two digits in her email. After I finished talking to Robin, I spotted the wrong number still lying there on my desk and decided to call it again.
When the same person once more answered, I shouted “Fuckin’ eejit!” and hung up. Next to his phone number I wrote the word “Eejit,” and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was feeling rotten, or had had a really bad day, I’d phone him. He’d answer, and then I’d yell, ‘Fuckin’ eejit!” It would always cheer me up.
Later that year BT introduced caller ID. This was a real disappointment for me. I would have to stop calling the eejit. Then one day I had an idea. I rang his number, then heard his voice, “Hello,” I made up a name, “this is Peter Smith with BT. I’m just calling to see if you’re familiar with our caller ID offer?” He went “No!”, and slammed the phone down. I quickly called him back and said, “That’s because you’re a fuckin’ eejit!”
And the reason I took the time to tell you this story is to show you how if there’s ever anything really bothering you, you can do something about it. Just ring 0141 429 7987.
The wee old woman at the supermarket took her time pulling out of the parking space. I didn’t think she was ever going to leave. Finally her car began to move and she started to very slowly back out of the space. I backed up a little more to give her plenty of room to pull out.
All of a sudden this black BMW comes flying up in the wrong direction and pulls into the space I have been more or less patiently waiting for. I honked my horn and shouted, but the guy climbed out of his car completely ignoring me. He walked toward the supermarket doors as if he didn’t even hear me. I thought to myself, this guy’s a fuckin’ eejit.
I noticed he had a ‘For Sale’ sign in the back window of his car. I wrote down the number and found another place to park.
A couple of days later, I’m at home sitting at my desk. I had just got off the phone after ringing the number above and yelling, “Fuckin’ eejit!” (It’s really easy to phone him now since I have his number on speed dial.) I noticed the phone number of the man with the black Beamer lying on my desk and thought I’d ring him too.
After a couple of rings someone answered the phone and said, “Hello.” I said, “You the chap with the black BMW for sale?”
“Yes I am.”
“Can you tell me where I can see it?”
“Yes, I live in Bearsden, 17 Glasgow Road.
And here is a letter from a South Side retirement home.
Dear Schoolchildren,
Thank you so much for the beautiful radio I won at your recent pensioners’ bingo lunch. I’m 94 years old and live at the local home in Pollokshields. My family are all dead apart from my daughter in Australia and I rarely have visitors. As a result, I have very limited contact with the outside world. This makes your present especially welcome.
The woman who shares my room, Maggie Cook, has had her own radio for as long as I’ve known her. She listens to it all the time, though usually with an earplug or with the volume so low that I can’t hear it. For some reason I have never understood, she has never wanted to share it.
Last Sunday morning, while listening to her morning religious programme, she accidentally knocked her radio off its shelf. It smashed into many pieces, and caused her to cry. It was really sad.
Fortunately, I had my new radio. Knowing this, Maggie asked if she could listen to mine.
I told her to fuck off.
God bless you.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Phone phantasy. With eejits.
I was sitting at my desk, when I remembered a phone call I had to make. I found the number and rang it. A man answered saying, “Hello?” I politely said, “This is John Thomas. Could I please speak to Robin Carter?”
Without a word the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be that rude. I tracked down Robin’s correct number and rang her. She had transposed the last two digits in her email. After I finished talking to Robin, I spotted the wrong number still lying there on my desk and decided to call it again.
When the same person once more answered, I shouted “Fuckin’ eejit!” and hung up. Next to his phone number I wrote the word “Eejit,” and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was feeling rotten, or had had a really bad day, I’d phone him. He’d answer, and then I’d yell, ‘Fuckin’ eejit!” It would always cheer me up.
Later that year BT introduced caller ID. This was a real disappointment for me. I would have to stop calling the eejit. Then one day I had an idea. I rang his number, then heard his voice, “Hello,” I made up a name, “this is Peter Smith with BT. I’m just calling to see if you’re familiar with our caller ID offer?” He went “No!”, and slammed the phone down. I quickly called him back and said, “That’s because you’re a fuckin’ eejit!”
And the reason I took the time to tell you this story is to show you how if there’s ever anything really bothering you, you can do something about it. Just ring 0141 429 7987.
The wee old woman at the supermarket took her time pulling out of the parking space. I didn’t think she was ever going to leave. Finally her car began to move and she started to very slowly back out of the space. I backed up a little more to give her plenty of room to pull out.
All of a sudden this black BMW comes flying up in the wrong direction and pulls into the space I have been more or less patiently waiting for. I honked my horn and shouted, but the guy climbed out of his car completely ignoring me. He walked toward the supermarket doors as if he didn’t even hear me. I thought to myself, this guy’s a fuckin’ eejit.
I noticed he had a ‘For Sale’ sign in the back window of his car. I wrote down the number and found another place to park.
A couple of days later, I’m at home sitting at my desk. I had just got off the phone after ringing the number above and yelling, “Fuckin’ eejit!” (It’s really easy to phone him now since I have his number on speed dial.) I noticed the phone number of the man with the black Beamer lying on my desk and thought I’d ring him too.
After a couple of rings someone answered the phone and said, “Hello.” I said, “You the chap with the black BMW for sale?”
“Yes I am.”
“Can you tell me where I can see it?”
“Yes, I live in Bearsden, 17 Glasgow Road.
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